ascinating, strangely contrasted with all
the beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of her
countenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but rather
decided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken her
self-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be her
wit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversed
with lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidently
intimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as he
never spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.

Was she married? Could it be? Impossible! Yet there was a richness in
her costume which was not usual for unmarried women. A diamond arrow had
pierced her clustering and auburn locks; she wore, indeed, no necklace;
with such a neck it would have been sacrilege; no ear-rings, for
her ears were too small for such a burthen; yet her girdle was of
brilliants; and a diamond cross worthy of Belinda and her immortal bard
hung upon her breast.

The Duke seized hold of the first person he knew: it was Lord Bagshot.

'Tell me,' he said, in the stern, low voice of a despot; 'tell me who
that creature is.'

'Which creature?' asked Lord Bagshot.

'Booby! brute! Bag, that creature of light and love!'

'Where?'

'There!

'What, my mother?'

'Your mother! cub! cart-horse! answer me, or I will run you through.'

'Who do you mean?'

'There, there, dancing with that raw-boned youth with red hair.'

'What, Lord St. Jerome! Lor! he is a Catholic. I never speak to them. My
governor would be so savage.'

'But the girl?'

'Oh! the girl! Lor! she is a Catholic, too.'

'But who is she?'

'Lor! don't you know?'

'Speak, hound; speak!'

'Lor! that is the beauty of the county; but then she is a Catholic. How
shocking! Blow us all up as soon as look at us.'

'If you do not tell me who she is directly, you shall never get into
White's. I will black-ball you regularly.'

'Lor! man, don't be in a passion. I will tell. But then I know you know
all the time. You are joking. Everybody knows the beauty of the county;
everybody knows May Dacre.'

'May Dacre!' said the Duke of St. James, as if he were shot.

'Why, what is the matter now?' asked Lord Bag-shot.

'What, the daughter of Dacre of Castle Dacre?' pursued his Grace.

'The very same; the beauty of the county. Everybody knows May Dacre. I
knew you knew her all the time. You did not take me in. Why, what is the